SHOW A LITTLE MORE (AND A LITTLE LESS) (Part One of Three)
SHOW A LITTLE MORE (AND A LITTLE LESS)
Author: lady_michaelis , Artist: creativmind1281 , Beta: eirana_regan
Pairing: Adam Lambert/Kris Allen
Rating: R
Genre: AU - romance, erotica
Word Count: 23,570
Warnings: Sexual situations, cross dressing, language, potentially triggering references to homophobia
Summary: For Kris, it has always a never-ending battle between the consequences of fear and the temptations of desire. The only way to forge a path to freedom is to slip on a sequined dress.
Disclaimers: Not mine, not yours, not ours, not theirs.
Notes: Inspired by Burlesque and the lovely Raja herself. As I like to say, any excuse to put Kris in a dress is a good one. Be warned that the majority of this fic discuss the dilemma of homophobia; I hope the characters put things into perspective for those who, to this day, cannot accept our gay, lesbian and transgender friends.
Kris Allen couldn’t remember the last time he had looked in the mirror without wanting to break it. He’d kept his head down on his way out of the airport, even if the soles of his battered Converse were treading on the ground of a state where no one knew his name. Still, that was the one good thing about cashing out all of his hard-earned money on a one-way plane ticket to Los Angeles-he would take the feeling of being ignored over the feeling of having everyone he knew treat him with such disdain. He had carried the image of the sad, disappointed looks on his parents’ faces when they had found out he was gay all the way to LA, coupling it with the sneering, hate-filled remarks from people he had considered friends.
Fag. He never thought he would hear something so foul come out of an old friend’s mouth.
Of course, there had been Katy; the one person whom he had thought would never abandon him because they had shared so much. He knew it hadn’t been fair for her to find out the true nature of his sexuality by carelessly allowing her to catch him with his hand down the football team captain’s pants, but he had never expected her to be one of those who would spit in his face and call him names. Fortunately, Cale and Charles had come to his rescue and had pulled him out of the fray. He had spent a few days at Charles’ place before mustering enough courage to come home one last time to take his things and bid a silent goodbye to his parents before flying off to the City of Angels.
For the first time in his life, he felt truly and completely alone. Cale and Charles still cared about him, but it would be ridiculous of him to ask them to drop everything and fly to LA with him. Kris understood the fact that they had lives; he used to have one, too.
Given that it was all he could afford at the moment, he had been forced to settle for a cramped room that smelled of mothballs and wet laundry at a rundown apartment. For the next few days, he allowed himself to wallow in misery and feel sorry for himself within those four walls, trying hard not to remember the life that he’d once had. He knew he could have kept things under wraps if he hadn’t allowed himself to come out, but that would have meant that he was content with living a lie.
Kris could deal with being called numerous derogatory names. The one thing he couldn’t deal with was to allow himself to be called a liar.
He let the empty bottle of beer he had been nursing for the past hour or so roll away into some crack in the pavement, directing his attention to the gaudy sprawl of buildings across the street. It was amazing how LA could be everything and nothing at the same time. The city was home to several of the most famous structures in the world of pop culture, but hid its horns in the forms of suspicious-looking strip clubs and seedy gentlemen’s bars-temporary reprieves for those crumbling under the pressure of reality. A long time ago, during the days when he was still perched high on his pedestal, he would have been mocking the people who frequented such places. Now that he was at the end of his rope and clinging to it for dear life, he would do as much as give anything to be one of them.
All men needed reprieves; Kris was not exempt from the rule.
The sound of joyful laughter from across the street distracted him from his musings. A petite drag queen in a corseted black and pink lace dress emerged from the front entrance of one of the burlesque clubs, a handsome man (one of them seemed like Zac Efron to Kris) on each of her arms. She tittered cheerfully at something Efron’s companion said before bidding them goodbye as a limo pulled up to fetch them. Kris watched in amazement as she made her way back into the club, hips swaying and heels clicking on the pavement. Though she moved like a woman, there was no doubt that she was indeed, a man. A shard of envy pricked at him like a thorn; the men knew what parts she had under her skirts but seemed neither disgusted nor ashamed to be in her company. Back in Conway, homosexuality was unheard of; most men in Arkansas would rather die than think of rubbing a bit of rouge on their cheeks.
He stumbled to his feet and made his way to the club-The Red Room, said the large, light-up sign on the roof-nervously fishing for the twenty he had in his pocket.
“Are you sure you’re in the right place, sweetheart?” the lanky brunette at the ticket booth asked. “I don’t know if it’s right to judge you by your clothes from where you’re from, but that’s what we do here in LA. As far as I’m concerned, sad-looking boys who look like they’ve just rolled out of a haystack don’t really belong in here. You’d better get home, kid; you might end up dead in this part of town.”
“…I should hate you right now,” Kris mumbled. “I should hate you because you’ve clearly just insulted me-the thing is, I don’t hate you because you’re right. In fact, I may as well be dead because my old life doesn’t exist anymore. Even if I go back home-wherever that is-no one’s going to welcome me back with open arms. You can’t just go out and be...be gay in a place like Conway, Arkansas.”
“Whoa, hold on there, kiddo.” The man ducked out of the booth just in time to prevent him from keeling over. “Come on in; you’re a little drunk and you’re seriously going to die if I leave you out here. Ignore what I said earlier, alright? You’re in dire need of affection right now.”
“I have a twenty here somewhere…” Kris rifled through his pocket with his free hand. “I’m not so butt poor that I can’t afford to pay my way into some club-”
“You can worry about the admission fee later,” the man said gently. “You can buy me a drink the next time you pop in. For now, step into our parlor-I’ll have Brandi see to you.”
Kris blinked as his world shifted. Moments ago, he had been making a fool of himself along the streets of LA’s campiest districts, spilling his woes out to a barely-clothed stranger manning the ticket booth of some club. Now, he was standing inside the said club, relishing the feel of plush red carpeting beneath the sole of his shoes. It was like he had been transported to some alternate world where everyone was beautiful, sinful and passionate-all the things he had never allowed himself to be.
“Oh, you poor thing! Here, come have a drink with me.”
The drag queen Kris had seen earlier came at him in a flurry of lace and bright pink feathers. She slipped her gloved hand into his and led him to one of the empty tables. Almost immediately, a bottle of beer materialized in front of him courtesy of a handsome, russet-haired bartender.
“Well, aren’t you quick!” Brandi giggled, fluttering her long lashes at him. “I swear, you have this radar that goes haywire when someone in need of a good drink comes crawling in.”
“Raja hired me for a reason,” he chuckled. “And what about you, Miss B? What are you having?”
“I’ll have a Mojito, please,” she replied. “Oh, with lychee vodka instead of white rum this time! Thank you, Cook; you’re such a doll.”
Kris watched in amusement as Cook flung an olive at Brandi, who only giggled in response. She turned back to Kris and placed her hand over his, squeezing it as a form of reassurance.
“He hates it when I call him Cookie,” she said solemnly. “But I do it anyway because that’s how I roll. Anyway, enough about us; I want to know what’s going on with you. Cassidy-he’s the babe manning the ticket booth, bless his beautiful soul-doesn’t really half-drag pretty boys in plaid in here for me to comfort them. Also, he never lets people in for free.”
Kris practically inhaled half the contents of his beer, praying the slight buzz in his head would give him the courage to speak up. He was already half-drunk, but was still too afraid to share his deepest, darkest secrets. He didn’t think he could stand it if this beautiful, kind-hearted illusion of a man turned on him just like everyone else in his life had.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it,” Brandi assured him. “Based on what Cass told me, it sounds like you were treated very badly when you came out to your friends and family, which totally sucks. I just want you to know that no one’s here to judge you. Some of our guys here come from that, and they all found the courage to deal with it through drag.”
“I have a hard time talking about it because it hurts so much!” Kris exclaimed. “It hurts to have your friends and your parents-fuck, even my own mama left me-look at you like you’ve committed the gravest sin just because you decided to embrace who you really are. Except for two of my closest friends, I don’t have anyone left. I-I just don’t know what to do from here…”
He wiped his tears with the back of his hand, ashamed to be seen crying in a public place. Brandi stared at him for a moment before rising from her seat, motioning for him to do the same.
“Follow me.”
“…where are we going?” he asked hoarsely.
“To what may hopefully be a better life for you-that is, if you want it to be,” Brandi said quietly. “I’m taking you to meet Raja; she’s the best person to tell your story to.”
Kris allowed himself to be led up a narrow flight of stairs and into a large, well-lit room. Dozens of vanity tables littered with brushes and tubes and containers of makeup nearly took up the entire room. On the far end were endless racks of glittery, satiny costumes similar to what Brandi had on. Kris reluctantly reached out to run a finger over the detailed beading of a silver garment, afraid that the beauty would wither and die under his tainted touch.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” A new voice snapped him out of his trance. “That’s what I wore when I won RuPaul’s Drag Race last year; it’s a personal favorite of mine. Given the fact that I’ve become the Mother Goose figure around this place, I rarely wear such things nowadays. It’s just good to have a pleasant reminder of my glory days within reach.”
“…I-I didn’t mean to touch it.” Kris withdrew his hand, cheeks coloring in shame. “I’m so sorry; it was shiny and well…there. Sometimes, I can’t help myself.”
The woman that had walked into the room may as well have been the Queen of All Things. She was tall-much taller than Kris himself-olive-skinned with a pale, powdered face and wig, and had an overall exotic air to her. Still, she bore a kind, amused expression on her face; Kris liked her immediately.
“Brandi brought me here,” he admitted. “She told me to see someone named Raja.”
“That would be me, sweetheart,” she beamed at him. “And the only time the girls only send people back here is when they see a potential addition to our family.”
“Oh god, I don’t belong here,” Kris shook his head. “You are all too beautiful; I simply wouldn’t fit in when I’m clearly going to be the ugly duckling.”
“Have a seat, Kris.” Raja pointedly ignored him. “Do you drink tea?”
“Sometimes, yes,” Kris replied, making himself comfortable on the plush divan. “I’m more of a coffee person, but I discovered that drinking tea really helps calm down the nerves.”
“Indeed it does,” Raja agreed, setting a floral teacup on a saucer before handing it to him. “It’s a four berry tea; I believe you’ll find it quite pleasant.”
Kris lifted the cup to his lips and downed some of the steaming liquid, feeling much more alert than he had been all evening. Raja took it from him and set it on the table before taking his hands in both of hers.
“What happened to you, honey?” she asked softly. “You look like you’ve been carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders; it’s heartbreaking to see someone so sweet look so sad.”
“It all started-and even ended-on the night of my college graduation ball.” Kris exhaled, rubbing his palms together. “I went with my ex-girlfriend as a friendly date just so we could hang with the rest of our friends. I ended up getting tipsy with one of the guys on the football team, and he seemed to be into me. He invited me to go somewhere private, and I agreed to go with him. I was drunk, so I didn’t realize that…that I had my hand down his pants. Everything went crazy when all the guys barged in and took pictures and stuff. It turned out that the entire team had set me up just to prove that I was gay. Worst of all, Katy didn’t even help me. She just stood there and yelled accusations about me secretly fantasizing about other guys when we were still together. I would probably be dead by now if my best friends didn’t arrive in time to save me. Numerous sad days, disappointed looks and a plane ticket later, here I am.”
“…it’s amazing how they don’t ever get sick of their incessant bullying.” Raja’s grip on Kris’ hands tightened considerably. “I’ve listened to so many stories about bullying in the past and it saddens me greatly. I used to ask myself why we have to suffer so much just because we are attracted to other men-this just goes to show that people have boxed themselves in with what they have gotten used to seeing. They refuse to peek outside that box in fear of being changed by what they perceive as ‘abnormal’. This is why I established The Red Room, Kris. All the queens you see out there are gay men who were once afraid to step out into the streets in fear of being mocked, ridiculed and hated. I don’t know what Brad-that’s Brandi’s real name, by the way-told you, but working here has allowed my boys to explore their sexuality in the safe confines of women’s clothing. As time passes, they become more confident in their skin, mainly because our patrons know that they have dicks under their skirts, but enjoy their company nonetheless. I’m extending the very same invitation to you, Kris; if you’re up to the challenge, I would like for you to experience how it feels to be revered by men for who you are.”
“I don’t think I have the confidence, Raja,” he said truthfully. “Even if I put on a costume, it won’t change the fact that I’m still a scared little shit who can’t even love himself.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised at the results,” Raja said with a coy smile. “Come on, sweetheart; do it for good ol’ Raja, at least. You don’t have to go out there if you don’t want to.”
“Well, it’s not like I have any better confidence boosters in my head,” Kris said with a weak chuckle. “Alright; I’m ready to be dolled up and…stuff.”
“Excellent.” Raja gracefully got to her feet and moved towards the costume rack. “We’ll start you off with something simple; you don’t have to worry about putting on a slinky flapper dress like what Brandi’s wearing tonight-ah, I think I have just the one.”
Kris watched in fascination as Raja pulled a gold sequined dress with a flirty hemline from the rack. Smiling, Raja folded it over Kris’ arm, allowing him to get the feel of it.
“It will set your eyes off beautifully,” she said. “Now, go get changed behind those curtains; I’m going to find you some shoes and stockings; we can’t have hairy legs showing under that dress.”
Kris felt surprisingly light-hearted as he ducked behind the heavy drapes with the dress hanging from his arm. Briefly considering his reflection in the mirror (he turned quickly to fight down the desire to break it), he quickly divested himself of his clothing, confused at his sudden desire to feel the brush of silk against his bare skin. Swallowing hard, he carefully pulled the dress over his head and pushed his arms into the sleeves, surprised at how well the fabric molded to his slim frame. He gaped at the bright-eyed man gazing back at him in the mirror, feeling his hatred wash away in waves.
“Are you alright, honey?” Raja poked her head into the dressing room. “I have the rest of your-oh, wow. Look at you, beautiful! The dress is just perfect on you.”
“…you think so?” Kris asked shyly. “I sort of feel good in it.”
“Like you’re meeting an old friend?” Raja pressed a kiss to his temple. “I know exactly how that feels, love; that was how I felt when I tried on my first dress.”
Kris pressed a hand to his cheek, surprised to realize that the skin was damp with his own tears. Raja produced a silk handkerchief from her own dress and gently dabbed at his tears, cradling him against her chest like a mother would her own child. Kris allowed her to bear his weight, sniffling a little into her chest before gracelessly righting himself, chuckling weakly when he saw a pair of black satin pumps on the dressing room floor.
“God, I just know I’m going to trip over everything in these things,” he remarked, reluctantly toeing off his Converse and socks. “I’m already a bull in a china shop in my shoes alone.”
“Practice makes perfect, doll,” Raja chided him as she had him roll on a pair of black stockings. “We’ll work on your walk a little bit each day; by the time I’m done with you, you’ll be walking like Andrej Pejic on the runway of New York Fashion Week.”
“And suddenly, the world seems a little less scary,” Kris laughed, trying not to wobble in his new shoes. “Oh my god, I don’t even know why I’m laughing right now.”
“It’s because you finally feel grounded,” Raja replied candidly. “Come, it’s time for hair and makeup-which is admittedly my most favorite part of this entire process.”
“I’m still amazed at how you manage to get that blond poof to stay on,” Kris giggled, gesturing to the Elizabethan pile of faux platinum hair on Raja’s head. “It must be a monster to work with!”
“It is, but that’s part of what makes Raja who she is,” she quirked an eyebrow at him. “Now, sit! I have the perfect look in mind for you already.”
Kris lost track of what Raja was doing at the first swipe of a brush against his cheek; she worked with the noticeable expertise and precision of an artist who had painted millions of faces at various points in time. In a flurry of shimmering golds and rich browns, Kris felt himself becoming the kind of person he had always wanted to be.
“Can I see?” he asked.
“Not yet, sweetheart,” Raja replied, moving to a large glass case with wigs on display. “As soon as I get this wig on your head, I’m sure you’re going to make the perfect picture.”
She chose a wig of long, wavy dark brown hair and combed through it with her fingers before adjusting the garter straps to conform to the size of Kris’ head. Kris bit his lip as Raja carefully pulled the wig over his head, arranging the curls so they fell neatly across his chest.
“Are you ready?” she asked him. “This is a big change from what you saw awhile ago, so it might trigger more emotional feelings. If you feel like you’re ready, I’m going to turn your chair slowly towards the mirror. Do you think you can handle that?”
“Yes,” Kris whispered. “The anticipation is killing me, so, yeah.”
He lifted his head as Raja turned the stool to face the mirror, more than a little floored to see the face of a beautiful woman staring back at him. He reached out to touch his reflection in the mirror with trembling fingers, trying to map the soft contours of the face of the woman in it.
“Do you see her, Kris?” Raja asked softly. “That’s Krista. Now, I want you to tell me-and the rest of the world-her story.”
“…so Brandi whipped out her handbag-heavily beaded, mind you-and started clobbering the guy with it! Thank goodness the idiots ran away before she decided to maul them with her new Louboutins. I don’t know how much you boys know about women’s shoes, but the latest addition to Brandi’s collection are, like, studded with gems with a four-inch spike heel. Totally a murder weapon.”
Krista beamed triumphantly at her guests for the night, signaling in Cook’s direction for another round of Bloody Mary cocktails to serve at her table. Earlier in the evening, Raja had asked her to attend to celebrity photographer Lee Cherry and his gaggle of shiny, happy friends. She had been awkward for a few moments, quite unsure of what to say to semi-famous people whose names she had seen in magazine articles, but Lee’s wife had broken the awkward silence by complimenting Krista’s dress. The Bohemian snakeskin Zac Posen dress (Krista had Raja and Brandi to thank for pumping information on designer labels into her head) had been the main topic for the first five minutes of their conversation, and it had sort of evolved from there. An hour and a half later, Krista had the entire Cherry posse in tears of mirth thanks to her anecdotes about her recent adventures with Brandi.
She had never expected that she would end up taking Raja’s offer, much less a quick status evolution from the new girl to the crowd favorite among The Red Room’s patrons.
Her first shift at the bar had unexpectedly begun on the night Kris Allen had walked into it in a sad attempt to escape reality. As soon as Raja had put the finishing touches on her makeup, Brandi had barged into the room saying something about how one of the queens had fallen ill and that they had no one to fill in her post for that particular shift. When she had finished her little tirade, her eyes had landed on Krista in all her made-up glory, which made her face do this thing that Krista only ever saw in cartoons-the face Bugs Bunny or some other character made when a brilliant idea pervaded their thoughts. She couldn’t remember exactly how Brandi had persuaded her to cover for the absentee, but Krista had soon found herself enjoying a couple of beers with her new client, Tommy Joe Ratliff. Her time with Tommy had consisted of alcohol, making out, heavy petting and a sloppy blowjob (she’d been surprised at how willing she had been to get down on her knees for him), but more importantly, she had made a good friend. Before he left, Tommy had told her that she’d be seeing him again sooner than she would expect.
From that night on, it had been a pretty smooth ride for Krista. A happy client would end up bringing along a few friends just so they could meet her during their next visit, and those friends would bring other friends. During those past two weeks, Krista had earned more than half of what Kris could earn waiting tables for a month or two, which allowed her to provide for Kris, herself and their friends. Kris had shucked his old apartment upon receiving a roomie invite from Brad, which meant that all their expenses were shared fifty-fifty. Aside from the tendency of the couple next door to go at it like cats when Kris and Brad were ready to tumble into bed in the wee hours of the morning, everything was perfect.
Kris loved being Krista; she was a welcome breath of fresh air in his otherwise dreary, depressing life.
“Krista! Can you come over here for a sec?” Brandi hollered in an attempt to make herself heard over the music. “Raja wants to talk to us! She says it’s important.”
“I’ll be there shortly!” Krista promised, knocking back the last of her Bloody Mary before rising to pull at the hem of her indecently short dress. “I’m so sorry, sweethearts; I’ll have to leave you alone for a bit. Should I ask one of the other girls to replace me for awhile, or you’ll be fine on your own?”
“We’ll be okay, honey,” Alisan Porter assured her. “We were just about to leave, anyway. God, it is so, so good to meet you! Don’t forget to text me when you’re free for a shopping date, alright?”
“I promise I won’t forget!” Krista beamed. “I’ll call you when I have a day off from work; you too, Miss Scarlett. Give my love to the little Riffster!”
She blew kisses to all of them before turning on her heel to walk towards Brandi, who was motioning towards the backstage area. Tammy Jean-Tommy Joe’s drag queen alter ego-and three other queens Krista recognized as Coco, Dominique and Giselle were lounging about, clearly awaiting Raja’s instructions. Nodding a greeting to Krista, Tammy Jean scooted over to make room for her on the loveseat, reaching over to smooth out the tangles in Krista’s wig. Seconds later, Raja-or Sutan Amrull, as she was called in the ‘real world’- emerged from the wings, dressed down and fresh-faced in a black tank, ripped denims and a pair of flip-flops.
“So, how major is this, Mama?” Brandi asked, picking at the chipping polish on her fingertips. “I take it this is going to be an outside job where you’ve been asked to place your best bets on the table.”
“Spot on, Cheeks,” Sutan winked at him. “I just got off the phone with a very good friend of mine. His father wants some of the queens from The Red Room to serve at a dinner party tomorrow night at the Sofitel. This is going to be a big deal for us because dinner parties equal executives, their wives and their children. If they like us well enough, then we are going to be assured of more than enough to keep up with the expenses of running this place. I want all six of you there with me tomorrow evening dressed in your very best. I’m going to pay you double for your work tomorrow and even throw in an extra day off.”
“I could kiss you, Mama!” Krista clapped her hands excitedly. “This sounds like a really wonderful opportunity for the club.”
“And for you boys, too,” Sutan reminded them. “Remember, this isn’t just about work. I want you to go out there and mingle. Make friends, find lovers, even drag a hook-up home; you’re all amazing young men and I would hate for you to go out there and do your thing just because it’s your job and you’re getting paid for it. That is not what drag is about-I need you all to understand that. Now, go get changed and start closing up; you’ll need your beauty sleep for tomorrow.”
“I feel like I have a year’s worth of foundation on my face,” Brad sighed dramatically, pulling the bob-cut wig off his head. “I kept coming back to the dressing room to retouch because one of my clients from tonight got all emotional on me. I just had to cry because I felt so bad for him! Imagine how you would feel if you caught your fiancée of almost one year having sex with some other guy in your bedroom.”
“That’s shit, man,” Tommy shook his head. “I really don’t get why people are never happy with what they have. It’s like they lose themselves completely when temptation walks through the door.”
“Temptation is a powerful force,” Brad agreed. “But I would much rather fall in love with someone who’ll love me forever than someone who will only ‘love’ me for a minute. As much as I love having fun in the beds of other men, I still have dreams of having someone to come home to one day.”
Kris wandered over to his dressing table, reaching backward to tug at the zip of his dress. Sighing, he allowed it to shimmy down his hips, letting it pool at his feet as he toed off his heels. He donned the lavender silk robe Sutan had given him and sat at the vanity, getting ready to begin the process of removing his makeup. He hated how his good mood would always melt away with the last of his makeup. When he was in Krista’s shoes, it was so easy to forget everything and just live like there was nothing to worry about. However, everything always came flooding back the moment he saw his own face in the mirror.
“Don’t be too hard on yourself, man,” Tommy advised, propping himself up on the table. “I know how shitty you feel when you reach for the makeup remover, but you’ve got to allow yourself to believe that there’s nothing to be ashamed of. Here, let me do that for you.”
“I’m sorry,” Kris said quietly, welcoming the cold touch of the makeup remover on his skin. “You really shouldn’t be coddling me like this; I’m a grown man who should be mature enough to deal with this on his own. Heck, I shouldn’t even be having issues in the first place.”
“You’re right; I shouldn’t,” Tommy agreed. “But there’s a big difference between having to do things-close your eyes-and wanting to do them. I want to do this for you because it’s the only thing aside from the drag gig that’s keeping you up. You’re an affection-starved little boy who was ultimately misunderstood by the people he thought loved him the most. If a kiss or two on the cheek is going to keep a smile on that pretty face, then I’m more than happy to oblige.”
“You spoil me too much,” Kris sighed. “You, Brad and Sutan. I wish I could just wake up one morning without all this emotional baggage so I can function like a normal person again. I end up depending too much on the rest of you because I’m in dire need of support.”
“Sweetheart, you are a normal person,” Tommy assured him. “You were betrayed and left to the wolves; it’s only natural that you’d feel upset about it. Personally, I’m all up for booking a flight to Conway just so I can throw a punch or fifty at each person who has made you feel like shit.”
Kris laughed. “And to think our first meeting culminated in a blowjob.”
“Hey, that was pretty darn good.” Tommy chuckled. “You’ve got a great mouth on you, Kris Allen. That was the first time-and maybe not the last, because I ain’t putting no cap on my sexuality-I let a guy blow me. Verdict? You are seriously better than my ex-girlfriend.”
“I’m charmed, Ratliff,” Kris laughed. “If ever you’d be up for a repeat, let me know so I can tell Krista.”
“I don’t work that way, honey,” Tommy said firmly, pressing a kiss to Kris’ forehead. “To me, Kris and Krista are one and the same. Just because you’re far more self-conscious as the little man in plaid doesn’t mean I love you any less once you’re out of the dress.”
Kris trembled slightly. “You don’t think it’s abnormal that I hate myself so much when I’m not Krista?”
“I don’t see it as a manifestation of self-hate,” Tommy replied, pressing another damp cotton ball to Kris’ under-eye area. “It’s more of a slight trauma, if you ask me. You’re unable to love yourself because the people you thought cared about you turned their backs on you the moment they found out you were gay. In all honesty, there’s no one to land the blame on in this situation. Some people think the way they do because they were raised to think that way; they would be rewarded handsomely for complying, but punished severely for rebelling. We can choose to blame history, but what good would that be? Only cowards place the blame on the dead.”
“If there’s anyone I choose to blame, it’s me.” Kris sighed. “I’m just not strong enough, Tommy. The only time I find myself capable of summoning the courage to pick myself up from the ground is when I’m in high heels and a dress. It’s sad how easily I can find the words to defend myself when I’m dressed as a girl while I just lie there and take the insults when I’m just me.”
“We’ll work on it, baby.” Tommy reached out and pulled him into a tight embrace. “It’s going to be a long and difficult journey, but we’ll make sure you get there. It’s all about taking baby steps, Kris. And when you feel scared and hopeless along the way, Sutan, Brad and I will be there. We’re not going to abandon you, baby. We know what it feels like to not be wanted ourselves.”
Kris burrowed his face into Tommy’s chest and breathed. There was nothing he could do but believe.
“…no way, Brandi. There is no way in hell I am wearing that!”
Krista edged away from the tight-fitting nude lace dress in fear of Brandi pulling it over her head. It was insanely short and skimpy as heck; she had no idea how on earth Brandi had deemed it appropriate for a business dinner where they would be catering to rich men in suits.
“It just looks skimpy, honey,” Brandi assured her. “I promise it’s not going to ride up and expose your thong or anything. You’re biologically male, so it’s going to look a lot less obscene-okay, maybe more- on you than on an actual girl. Besides, you need to show off those newly waxed legs of yours.”
“Fine,” Krista grumbled, snatching the garment from Brandi. “But if upskirt photos of me appear somewhere on the internet, I am going to deprive you of my crab and mango salad for a month!”
“And to be deprived of Krista’s cooking is a dying shame!” Coco laughed. “That goes double for you since you live with her, Brandi. Maybe you’ll wind up going back to your days of organic wheatgrass.”
“Brandi ate wheatgrass?” Krista poked her head out from the dressing room, expression aghast. “But what does that even taste like? It sounds pretty darn awful if you ask me.”
“Brad and Cassidy went through this organic ‘food’ phase.” Tammy rolled her eyes. “Trust me; you don’t want to know what organic wheatgrass even looks like.”
“Well, we can’t all be like you, wasp waist,” Brandi retorted. “Not everyone can stuff tacos into their body every single day and not gain an ounce.”
“Story of my life,” Tammy smirked, applying a second layer of kohl to her lids. “I could say the same for Krista, though; the bitch can eat.”
“Yes, I can,” Krista nodded sagely, making a beeline for the leather jacket Tommy had worn on their way to the hotel. “And before I hear any objections, I’ll be wearing this for the rest of the night and that’s final. The skirt is already obscenely short; I’ll look like a stripper. Plus, it’s cold.”
“I hate semi-formal events,” Tammy scowled, tugging on the hem of her leather-and-chiffon dress. “I can’t even wear my creepers tonight. If I trip all over you in these monstrous heels, that’s because I can’t walk an inch in them. I’ll take any job that involves standing.”
“Even if you have to greet people at the door?” Brandi asked with a giggle. “We all know that’s the job you hate the most. Raja was going to do it herself tonight, but since you’re so keen on not moving at all, I can talk to her about letting you help out.”
“…I’d rather walk, thank you very much,” Tammy said frostily. “I can watch out for the old men trying to get a handful of Krista’s extremely generous behind.”
“You do that, sweetheart.” Raja emerged from the suite, looking stunning in a long champagne-colored gown. “Mister Lambert is expecting us to be down there in ten minutes; guests will be arriving shortly after. I’m sure you all know what to do, but just in case you run into trouble, don’t hesitate to approach me by the reception area. Be polite to the guests-some of them will be bringing their sons and daughters along, so there might be some eye candy-and have a great time.”
“I am so there!” Brandi tittered cheerfully, snatching up her beaded clutch before making a beeline for the door. “See you later, ladies. Maybe there are going to be some hot guys on the early arrivals list.”
Krista made a move to follow, but was stopped by Raja on her way out.
“May I have a word with you, sweetie?”
“Of course,” Krista replied, waving Tammy on, briefly indicating with a hand gesture that she would catch up shortly. “Is my dress too short? I can pick out something else; this is all Brandi’s fault.”
“No, no,” Raja shook her head, smiling. “You look perfect, honey; I have no complaints about your outfit. I just wanted to ask if you found it to presumptuous of me to think that you were ready for such a big thing. It’s just that you have a way with handling all our patrons, Kris; some of them are going to end up as your regulars for as long as you want to keep this job. You bring a certain sparkle to the club, and I am so, so proud of you for being able to do that. Even if you can only embolden yourself when you assume the role of Krista, it is a huge first step. Never be too hard on yourself, honey.”
“Thank you, Mama.” Krista leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. “I owe you everything.”
“Good girl.” Raja embraced her tightly. “Now, go and make me proud!”
Krista blew her a kiss before heading out, unsurprised to see Tammy waiting for her in the hallway. Since day one, Tommy had made it crystal clear that he would always be there for Kris, and his drag queen alter ego was intent on upholding her end of the bargain.
“It was nothing serious,” Krista explained as they descended the staircase companionably. “To generalize things, she just told me to let loose and have fun.”
“Good advice,” Tammy agreed. “But don’t get too wasted; stuff could happen. It’s always the quiet ones that make the biggest messes when they’re wasted.”
“Trust me; I won’t even go near the alcohol.” Krista shuddered. “Cale says I turn into a whore when I’m drunk; these rich gentlemen do not need to see that.”
“And they’re old.” Tammy wrinkled her nose. “I have nothing against old men, but that all changes when I feel a gnarly, wrinkled hand on my bare thigh. It’s an invitation for a murder.”
“Don’t even make me imagine things,” Krista mumbled. “I’m not being a bitch or anything, but my preferences include young, nice-looking and smart. I believe we’re all too young to be escorting our boyfriends to the toilet because they can’t make it on their own.”
“Talk about miserable.” Tammy rolled her eyes. “I am not spending the rest of my life in servitude to some ancient pervert who can’t get it up even when pumped with unhealthy doses of Viagra.”
“And you two should kind of shut up because people are arriving,” Giselle piped up. “That isn’t exactly the kind of conversation that you should be having in public places.”
“Oh, please; I’ll say whatever I want whenever I want,” Tammy said haughtily, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “A little attitude goes a long way.”
“I’m with you on that,” Krista said with a giggle. “Check out Brandi-she’s got three men hanging on to her every word already. I can only wish that I could have been born half as outgoing as she is.”
“I think your initial shyness is a turn-on for your clients, though,” Tammy commented. “The way you fiddle with the hem of your dresses is adorable, really.”
“Ladies, you really need to stop gabbing now,” Coco reminded them. “Guests are starting to arrive and we don’t want to be caught gossiping by the reception area. Come; you two can help me serve the hor d'oeuvres. They won’t require much socializing on Tammy’s part.”
“Good enough for me,” Tammy agreed. “Brandi! Get your manwhore ass here now.”
“That’s actually a pet name,” Krista heard Brandi tell one of the men. “We call each other manwhore and slut all the time. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I actually have a job to get to.”
“Is there anyone in this room that I need to know?” Krista asked as she watched Raja escort the dignified-looking people into the room. “I’m a bit of a hick when it comes to famous people, and I don’t want to look dumb just in case they talk to me.”
“Well, you’re lucky that I’m here to educate you,” Brandi said smugly. “And you’re also lucky that most of these gentlemen aren’t the types who would give you hell if you didn’t recognize them. As of right now, your only concern should be the Lambert family. See that jolly-looking fellow by the reception area with Raja? That’s the Eber Lambert, world-class film producer. Word on the block is that he’s about to purchase thirty percent of the shares of Paramount out of sheer awesomeness. That hot mama on his arm is his ex-wife Leila; she’s a screenplay writer at Paramount. The chap making the rounds and shaking hands with everyone is their youngest son Neil. He choreographs stunts for a lot of action flicks. Finally, the one who keeps checking himself out in the mirror because he’s totally disinterested in everything else is Adam, the eldest son. He’s…well, he’s an actor and a socialite. He and Raja are good friends. Sadly, he's a major ass.”
“He’s cute, though,” Dominique said with a giggle. “Do you think he’s into boys?”
“He’s a bit of a playboy, that one,” Brandi replied. “He tried to come on to me once but I kicked him in the balls because he was being handsy while I was entertaining a client at another table. Frankly, I don’t know what he’s like when he’s not drunk, but I doubt that makes much of a difference.”
“And to think he’s thirty-something.” Tammy scowled. “I do not approve of people who waste their lives when they obviously have the capacity to do something with them. As long as you keep me away from him, I think we will have a very nice evening.”
“In short, Krista will be in charge of serving Adam Lambert.” Brandi winked at Krista. “You’re the only one who won’t burn him to the ground or straddle his lap and ask him to fuck you.”
“Oh gosh, I wouldn’t!” Krista shook her head, her cheeks aflame. “I’m just going to serve him his food and go away unless he orders something else. I won’t even talk to him.”
“I don’t think things are going to go as easy as you think they will, but I’ll let you hang on to that dream until it’s time to face the music,” Tammy sighed. “Anyway, I’ll be nearby. In case he grabs your ass, scream like a hysterical teenage girl so I can come to your rescue.”
Heaving a sigh, Krista reached for a tray of fancy-looking biscuits that were stuffed with fancy-looking things and made her way towards the dinner table, trailing closely behind Brandi and her tray of cocktails. Realizing that she looked as terrified as she felt (she should have had a couple of shots before leaving; she was so much braver when she was tipsy), she pasted a nervous smile on her face and hoped that she wouldn’t crack until the dinner party was over.
Things were so much easier to handle at The Red Room.
“Would you like a drink, sir?” she heard Brandi ask smoothly. “We have an array of nastily colorful drinks to serve as your poison for the night-Cook’s world-famous frozen Mojito is on the menu.”
“Thank fuck,” Adam Lambert grumbled as he accepted the Mojito. “I need something to curb my boredom. Do you think I can sneak out of here after dinner?”
“I heard that, Adam,” Leila Lambert warned her son. “And, no, you are not allowed to leave this room until this dinner is over. I can easily have your father deactivate your ATM card, you know.”
“No way!” Adam whined. “The lambskin leather gloves Dior customized for me are coming in from Milan next week; I need cash to pay for that.”
Krista bristled, all traces of shyness immediately replaced by irritation. Brandi was right; Adam Lambert was a serious jerk.
“Appetizers, Mister Lambert?” she forced herself to say through gritted teeth.
“They’re not good for my waistline, so, no.” He dismissed her with a wave of his hand. “Could you maybe ask the chef to whip up a salad? Everything on the buffet table is so fucking fattening.”
“…get it yourself, you jerk.”
The words escaped Krista’s mouth before she could even think of putting a lid on it. Humiliated, she stepped backwards and crashed into Coco. The jolt from the sudden impact made her lose her balance, and all her hor d’oeuvres made themselves at home on Adam Lambert’s lap.
“…oh my god,” she whimpered, gaping at the mess of greens, tomatoes, liver spread and other things. “I’m so sorry. Oh my god, I am so sorry!”
“This was a fifty-thousand dollar suit!” Adam snapped. “It was custom-made by Karl Lagerfeld out of the finest wool in America. It’s fucking irreplaceable and you ruined it for life!”
“As if that’s going to be a problem for you!” Krista found herself yelling. “You’re filthy rich so you can have all the fucking Chanel in the world at the snap of a finger. I seriously felt bad, you know? But you ruined everything by spouting all that bratty nonsense!”
“That was not bratty nonsense!” Adam argued. “And I have the right to be furious because you ruined the best suit in my closet.”
“Last week, you said that weird shiny gray thing by someone-or-other was your best one,” Neil Lambert offered unhelpfully. “And give the girl a break; it was obviously an accident-plus, she apologized. Most people wouldn’t apologize to jerks like you.”
“Whatever.” Adam turned on his heel in search of the exit. “I’m leaving. You can all talk about how much of a jerk you think I am, but I won’t stick around to hear it.”
Tammy scowled. “What a prick. I was going to allow a tiny part of my cold-hearted self to feel sorry for him, but his attitude is so off-putting. I hope the food stains stay where they are.”
Krista sighed and shook her head. With as much dignity as she could muster, she strode purposefully in the direction of the kitchens to find someone that would help her clean up the mess. Her unfortunate run-in with the brat of the Lambert family had been a bad way to start the night, but she was determined not to let the incident ruin her chances of actually having fun.
Adam Lambert could fucking screw himself for all she cared.
(PART TWO)
Author: lady_michaelis , Artist: creativmind1281 , Beta: eirana_regan
Pairing: Adam Lambert/Kris Allen
Rating: R
Genre: AU - romance, erotica
Word Count: 23,570
Warnings: Sexual situations, cross dressing, language, potentially triggering references to homophobia
Summary: For Kris, it has always a never-ending battle between the consequences of fear and the temptations of desire. The only way to forge a path to freedom is to slip on a sequined dress.
Disclaimers: Not mine, not yours, not ours, not theirs.
Notes: Inspired by Burlesque and the lovely Raja herself. As I like to say, any excuse to put Kris in a dress is a good one. Be warned that the majority of this fic discuss the dilemma of homophobia; I hope the characters put things into perspective for those who, to this day, cannot accept our gay, lesbian and transgender friends.
Kris Allen couldn’t remember the last time he had looked in the mirror without wanting to break it. He’d kept his head down on his way out of the airport, even if the soles of his battered Converse were treading on the ground of a state where no one knew his name. Still, that was the one good thing about cashing out all of his hard-earned money on a one-way plane ticket to Los Angeles-he would take the feeling of being ignored over the feeling of having everyone he knew treat him with such disdain. He had carried the image of the sad, disappointed looks on his parents’ faces when they had found out he was gay all the way to LA, coupling it with the sneering, hate-filled remarks from people he had considered friends.
Fag. He never thought he would hear something so foul come out of an old friend’s mouth.
Of course, there had been Katy; the one person whom he had thought would never abandon him because they had shared so much. He knew it hadn’t been fair for her to find out the true nature of his sexuality by carelessly allowing her to catch him with his hand down the football team captain’s pants, but he had never expected her to be one of those who would spit in his face and call him names. Fortunately, Cale and Charles had come to his rescue and had pulled him out of the fray. He had spent a few days at Charles’ place before mustering enough courage to come home one last time to take his things and bid a silent goodbye to his parents before flying off to the City of Angels.
For the first time in his life, he felt truly and completely alone. Cale and Charles still cared about him, but it would be ridiculous of him to ask them to drop everything and fly to LA with him. Kris understood the fact that they had lives; he used to have one, too.
Given that it was all he could afford at the moment, he had been forced to settle for a cramped room that smelled of mothballs and wet laundry at a rundown apartment. For the next few days, he allowed himself to wallow in misery and feel sorry for himself within those four walls, trying hard not to remember the life that he’d once had. He knew he could have kept things under wraps if he hadn’t allowed himself to come out, but that would have meant that he was content with living a lie.
Kris could deal with being called numerous derogatory names. The one thing he couldn’t deal with was to allow himself to be called a liar.
He let the empty bottle of beer he had been nursing for the past hour or so roll away into some crack in the pavement, directing his attention to the gaudy sprawl of buildings across the street. It was amazing how LA could be everything and nothing at the same time. The city was home to several of the most famous structures in the world of pop culture, but hid its horns in the forms of suspicious-looking strip clubs and seedy gentlemen’s bars-temporary reprieves for those crumbling under the pressure of reality. A long time ago, during the days when he was still perched high on his pedestal, he would have been mocking the people who frequented such places. Now that he was at the end of his rope and clinging to it for dear life, he would do as much as give anything to be one of them.
All men needed reprieves; Kris was not exempt from the rule.
The sound of joyful laughter from across the street distracted him from his musings. A petite drag queen in a corseted black and pink lace dress emerged from the front entrance of one of the burlesque clubs, a handsome man (one of them seemed like Zac Efron to Kris) on each of her arms. She tittered cheerfully at something Efron’s companion said before bidding them goodbye as a limo pulled up to fetch them. Kris watched in amazement as she made her way back into the club, hips swaying and heels clicking on the pavement. Though she moved like a woman, there was no doubt that she was indeed, a man. A shard of envy pricked at him like a thorn; the men knew what parts she had under her skirts but seemed neither disgusted nor ashamed to be in her company. Back in Conway, homosexuality was unheard of; most men in Arkansas would rather die than think of rubbing a bit of rouge on their cheeks.
He stumbled to his feet and made his way to the club-The Red Room, said the large, light-up sign on the roof-nervously fishing for the twenty he had in his pocket.
“Are you sure you’re in the right place, sweetheart?” the lanky brunette at the ticket booth asked. “I don’t know if it’s right to judge you by your clothes from where you’re from, but that’s what we do here in LA. As far as I’m concerned, sad-looking boys who look like they’ve just rolled out of a haystack don’t really belong in here. You’d better get home, kid; you might end up dead in this part of town.”
“…I should hate you right now,” Kris mumbled. “I should hate you because you’ve clearly just insulted me-the thing is, I don’t hate you because you’re right. In fact, I may as well be dead because my old life doesn’t exist anymore. Even if I go back home-wherever that is-no one’s going to welcome me back with open arms. You can’t just go out and be...be gay in a place like Conway, Arkansas.”
“Whoa, hold on there, kiddo.” The man ducked out of the booth just in time to prevent him from keeling over. “Come on in; you’re a little drunk and you’re seriously going to die if I leave you out here. Ignore what I said earlier, alright? You’re in dire need of affection right now.”
“I have a twenty here somewhere…” Kris rifled through his pocket with his free hand. “I’m not so butt poor that I can’t afford to pay my way into some club-”
“You can worry about the admission fee later,” the man said gently. “You can buy me a drink the next time you pop in. For now, step into our parlor-I’ll have Brandi see to you.”
Kris blinked as his world shifted. Moments ago, he had been making a fool of himself along the streets of LA’s campiest districts, spilling his woes out to a barely-clothed stranger manning the ticket booth of some club. Now, he was standing inside the said club, relishing the feel of plush red carpeting beneath the sole of his shoes. It was like he had been transported to some alternate world where everyone was beautiful, sinful and passionate-all the things he had never allowed himself to be.
“Oh, you poor thing! Here, come have a drink with me.”
The drag queen Kris had seen earlier came at him in a flurry of lace and bright pink feathers. She slipped her gloved hand into his and led him to one of the empty tables. Almost immediately, a bottle of beer materialized in front of him courtesy of a handsome, russet-haired bartender.
“Well, aren’t you quick!” Brandi giggled, fluttering her long lashes at him. “I swear, you have this radar that goes haywire when someone in need of a good drink comes crawling in.”
“Raja hired me for a reason,” he chuckled. “And what about you, Miss B? What are you having?”
“I’ll have a Mojito, please,” she replied. “Oh, with lychee vodka instead of white rum this time! Thank you, Cook; you’re such a doll.”
Kris watched in amusement as Cook flung an olive at Brandi, who only giggled in response. She turned back to Kris and placed her hand over his, squeezing it as a form of reassurance.
“He hates it when I call him Cookie,” she said solemnly. “But I do it anyway because that’s how I roll. Anyway, enough about us; I want to know what’s going on with you. Cassidy-he’s the babe manning the ticket booth, bless his beautiful soul-doesn’t really half-drag pretty boys in plaid in here for me to comfort them. Also, he never lets people in for free.”
Kris practically inhaled half the contents of his beer, praying the slight buzz in his head would give him the courage to speak up. He was already half-drunk, but was still too afraid to share his deepest, darkest secrets. He didn’t think he could stand it if this beautiful, kind-hearted illusion of a man turned on him just like everyone else in his life had.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it,” Brandi assured him. “Based on what Cass told me, it sounds like you were treated very badly when you came out to your friends and family, which totally sucks. I just want you to know that no one’s here to judge you. Some of our guys here come from that, and they all found the courage to deal with it through drag.”
“I have a hard time talking about it because it hurts so much!” Kris exclaimed. “It hurts to have your friends and your parents-fuck, even my own mama left me-look at you like you’ve committed the gravest sin just because you decided to embrace who you really are. Except for two of my closest friends, I don’t have anyone left. I-I just don’t know what to do from here…”
He wiped his tears with the back of his hand, ashamed to be seen crying in a public place. Brandi stared at him for a moment before rising from her seat, motioning for him to do the same.
“Follow me.”
“…where are we going?” he asked hoarsely.
“To what may hopefully be a better life for you-that is, if you want it to be,” Brandi said quietly. “I’m taking you to meet Raja; she’s the best person to tell your story to.”
Kris allowed himself to be led up a narrow flight of stairs and into a large, well-lit room. Dozens of vanity tables littered with brushes and tubes and containers of makeup nearly took up the entire room. On the far end were endless racks of glittery, satiny costumes similar to what Brandi had on. Kris reluctantly reached out to run a finger over the detailed beading of a silver garment, afraid that the beauty would wither and die under his tainted touch.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” A new voice snapped him out of his trance. “That’s what I wore when I won RuPaul’s Drag Race last year; it’s a personal favorite of mine. Given the fact that I’ve become the Mother Goose figure around this place, I rarely wear such things nowadays. It’s just good to have a pleasant reminder of my glory days within reach.”
“…I-I didn’t mean to touch it.” Kris withdrew his hand, cheeks coloring in shame. “I’m so sorry; it was shiny and well…there. Sometimes, I can’t help myself.”
The woman that had walked into the room may as well have been the Queen of All Things. She was tall-much taller than Kris himself-olive-skinned with a pale, powdered face and wig, and had an overall exotic air to her. Still, she bore a kind, amused expression on her face; Kris liked her immediately.
“Brandi brought me here,” he admitted. “She told me to see someone named Raja.”
“That would be me, sweetheart,” she beamed at him. “And the only time the girls only send people back here is when they see a potential addition to our family.”
“Oh god, I don’t belong here,” Kris shook his head. “You are all too beautiful; I simply wouldn’t fit in when I’m clearly going to be the ugly duckling.”
“Have a seat, Kris.” Raja pointedly ignored him. “Do you drink tea?”
“Sometimes, yes,” Kris replied, making himself comfortable on the plush divan. “I’m more of a coffee person, but I discovered that drinking tea really helps calm down the nerves.”
“Indeed it does,” Raja agreed, setting a floral teacup on a saucer before handing it to him. “It’s a four berry tea; I believe you’ll find it quite pleasant.”
Kris lifted the cup to his lips and downed some of the steaming liquid, feeling much more alert than he had been all evening. Raja took it from him and set it on the table before taking his hands in both of hers.
“What happened to you, honey?” she asked softly. “You look like you’ve been carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders; it’s heartbreaking to see someone so sweet look so sad.”
“It all started-and even ended-on the night of my college graduation ball.” Kris exhaled, rubbing his palms together. “I went with my ex-girlfriend as a friendly date just so we could hang with the rest of our friends. I ended up getting tipsy with one of the guys on the football team, and he seemed to be into me. He invited me to go somewhere private, and I agreed to go with him. I was drunk, so I didn’t realize that…that I had my hand down his pants. Everything went crazy when all the guys barged in and took pictures and stuff. It turned out that the entire team had set me up just to prove that I was gay. Worst of all, Katy didn’t even help me. She just stood there and yelled accusations about me secretly fantasizing about other guys when we were still together. I would probably be dead by now if my best friends didn’t arrive in time to save me. Numerous sad days, disappointed looks and a plane ticket later, here I am.”
“…it’s amazing how they don’t ever get sick of their incessant bullying.” Raja’s grip on Kris’ hands tightened considerably. “I’ve listened to so many stories about bullying in the past and it saddens me greatly. I used to ask myself why we have to suffer so much just because we are attracted to other men-this just goes to show that people have boxed themselves in with what they have gotten used to seeing. They refuse to peek outside that box in fear of being changed by what they perceive as ‘abnormal’. This is why I established The Red Room, Kris. All the queens you see out there are gay men who were once afraid to step out into the streets in fear of being mocked, ridiculed and hated. I don’t know what Brad-that’s Brandi’s real name, by the way-told you, but working here has allowed my boys to explore their sexuality in the safe confines of women’s clothing. As time passes, they become more confident in their skin, mainly because our patrons know that they have dicks under their skirts, but enjoy their company nonetheless. I’m extending the very same invitation to you, Kris; if you’re up to the challenge, I would like for you to experience how it feels to be revered by men for who you are.”
“I don’t think I have the confidence, Raja,” he said truthfully. “Even if I put on a costume, it won’t change the fact that I’m still a scared little shit who can’t even love himself.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised at the results,” Raja said with a coy smile. “Come on, sweetheart; do it for good ol’ Raja, at least. You don’t have to go out there if you don’t want to.”
“Well, it’s not like I have any better confidence boosters in my head,” Kris said with a weak chuckle. “Alright; I’m ready to be dolled up and…stuff.”
“Excellent.” Raja gracefully got to her feet and moved towards the costume rack. “We’ll start you off with something simple; you don’t have to worry about putting on a slinky flapper dress like what Brandi’s wearing tonight-ah, I think I have just the one.”
Kris watched in fascination as Raja pulled a gold sequined dress with a flirty hemline from the rack. Smiling, Raja folded it over Kris’ arm, allowing him to get the feel of it.
“It will set your eyes off beautifully,” she said. “Now, go get changed behind those curtains; I’m going to find you some shoes and stockings; we can’t have hairy legs showing under that dress.”
Kris felt surprisingly light-hearted as he ducked behind the heavy drapes with the dress hanging from his arm. Briefly considering his reflection in the mirror (he turned quickly to fight down the desire to break it), he quickly divested himself of his clothing, confused at his sudden desire to feel the brush of silk against his bare skin. Swallowing hard, he carefully pulled the dress over his head and pushed his arms into the sleeves, surprised at how well the fabric molded to his slim frame. He gaped at the bright-eyed man gazing back at him in the mirror, feeling his hatred wash away in waves.
“Are you alright, honey?” Raja poked her head into the dressing room. “I have the rest of your-oh, wow. Look at you, beautiful! The dress is just perfect on you.”
“…you think so?” Kris asked shyly. “I sort of feel good in it.”
“Like you’re meeting an old friend?” Raja pressed a kiss to his temple. “I know exactly how that feels, love; that was how I felt when I tried on my first dress.”
Kris pressed a hand to his cheek, surprised to realize that the skin was damp with his own tears. Raja produced a silk handkerchief from her own dress and gently dabbed at his tears, cradling him against her chest like a mother would her own child. Kris allowed her to bear his weight, sniffling a little into her chest before gracelessly righting himself, chuckling weakly when he saw a pair of black satin pumps on the dressing room floor.
“God, I just know I’m going to trip over everything in these things,” he remarked, reluctantly toeing off his Converse and socks. “I’m already a bull in a china shop in my shoes alone.”
“Practice makes perfect, doll,” Raja chided him as she had him roll on a pair of black stockings. “We’ll work on your walk a little bit each day; by the time I’m done with you, you’ll be walking like Andrej Pejic on the runway of New York Fashion Week.”
“And suddenly, the world seems a little less scary,” Kris laughed, trying not to wobble in his new shoes. “Oh my god, I don’t even know why I’m laughing right now.”
“It’s because you finally feel grounded,” Raja replied candidly. “Come, it’s time for hair and makeup-which is admittedly my most favorite part of this entire process.”
“I’m still amazed at how you manage to get that blond poof to stay on,” Kris giggled, gesturing to the Elizabethan pile of faux platinum hair on Raja’s head. “It must be a monster to work with!”
“It is, but that’s part of what makes Raja who she is,” she quirked an eyebrow at him. “Now, sit! I have the perfect look in mind for you already.”
Kris lost track of what Raja was doing at the first swipe of a brush against his cheek; she worked with the noticeable expertise and precision of an artist who had painted millions of faces at various points in time. In a flurry of shimmering golds and rich browns, Kris felt himself becoming the kind of person he had always wanted to be.
“Can I see?” he asked.
“Not yet, sweetheart,” Raja replied, moving to a large glass case with wigs on display. “As soon as I get this wig on your head, I’m sure you’re going to make the perfect picture.”
She chose a wig of long, wavy dark brown hair and combed through it with her fingers before adjusting the garter straps to conform to the size of Kris’ head. Kris bit his lip as Raja carefully pulled the wig over his head, arranging the curls so they fell neatly across his chest.
“Are you ready?” she asked him. “This is a big change from what you saw awhile ago, so it might trigger more emotional feelings. If you feel like you’re ready, I’m going to turn your chair slowly towards the mirror. Do you think you can handle that?”
“Yes,” Kris whispered. “The anticipation is killing me, so, yeah.”
He lifted his head as Raja turned the stool to face the mirror, more than a little floored to see the face of a beautiful woman staring back at him. He reached out to touch his reflection in the mirror with trembling fingers, trying to map the soft contours of the face of the woman in it.
“Do you see her, Kris?” Raja asked softly. “That’s Krista. Now, I want you to tell me-and the rest of the world-her story.”
“…so Brandi whipped out her handbag-heavily beaded, mind you-and started clobbering the guy with it! Thank goodness the idiots ran away before she decided to maul them with her new Louboutins. I don’t know how much you boys know about women’s shoes, but the latest addition to Brandi’s collection are, like, studded with gems with a four-inch spike heel. Totally a murder weapon.”
Krista beamed triumphantly at her guests for the night, signaling in Cook’s direction for another round of Bloody Mary cocktails to serve at her table. Earlier in the evening, Raja had asked her to attend to celebrity photographer Lee Cherry and his gaggle of shiny, happy friends. She had been awkward for a few moments, quite unsure of what to say to semi-famous people whose names she had seen in magazine articles, but Lee’s wife had broken the awkward silence by complimenting Krista’s dress. The Bohemian snakeskin Zac Posen dress (Krista had Raja and Brandi to thank for pumping information on designer labels into her head) had been the main topic for the first five minutes of their conversation, and it had sort of evolved from there. An hour and a half later, Krista had the entire Cherry posse in tears of mirth thanks to her anecdotes about her recent adventures with Brandi.
She had never expected that she would end up taking Raja’s offer, much less a quick status evolution from the new girl to the crowd favorite among The Red Room’s patrons.
Her first shift at the bar had unexpectedly begun on the night Kris Allen had walked into it in a sad attempt to escape reality. As soon as Raja had put the finishing touches on her makeup, Brandi had barged into the room saying something about how one of the queens had fallen ill and that they had no one to fill in her post for that particular shift. When she had finished her little tirade, her eyes had landed on Krista in all her made-up glory, which made her face do this thing that Krista only ever saw in cartoons-the face Bugs Bunny or some other character made when a brilliant idea pervaded their thoughts. She couldn’t remember exactly how Brandi had persuaded her to cover for the absentee, but Krista had soon found herself enjoying a couple of beers with her new client, Tommy Joe Ratliff. Her time with Tommy had consisted of alcohol, making out, heavy petting and a sloppy blowjob (she’d been surprised at how willing she had been to get down on her knees for him), but more importantly, she had made a good friend. Before he left, Tommy had told her that she’d be seeing him again sooner than she would expect.
From that night on, it had been a pretty smooth ride for Krista. A happy client would end up bringing along a few friends just so they could meet her during their next visit, and those friends would bring other friends. During those past two weeks, Krista had earned more than half of what Kris could earn waiting tables for a month or two, which allowed her to provide for Kris, herself and their friends. Kris had shucked his old apartment upon receiving a roomie invite from Brad, which meant that all their expenses were shared fifty-fifty. Aside from the tendency of the couple next door to go at it like cats when Kris and Brad were ready to tumble into bed in the wee hours of the morning, everything was perfect.
Kris loved being Krista; she was a welcome breath of fresh air in his otherwise dreary, depressing life.
“Krista! Can you come over here for a sec?” Brandi hollered in an attempt to make herself heard over the music. “Raja wants to talk to us! She says it’s important.”
“I’ll be there shortly!” Krista promised, knocking back the last of her Bloody Mary before rising to pull at the hem of her indecently short dress. “I’m so sorry, sweethearts; I’ll have to leave you alone for a bit. Should I ask one of the other girls to replace me for awhile, or you’ll be fine on your own?”
“We’ll be okay, honey,” Alisan Porter assured her. “We were just about to leave, anyway. God, it is so, so good to meet you! Don’t forget to text me when you’re free for a shopping date, alright?”
“I promise I won’t forget!” Krista beamed. “I’ll call you when I have a day off from work; you too, Miss Scarlett. Give my love to the little Riffster!”
She blew kisses to all of them before turning on her heel to walk towards Brandi, who was motioning towards the backstage area. Tammy Jean-Tommy Joe’s drag queen alter ego-and three other queens Krista recognized as Coco, Dominique and Giselle were lounging about, clearly awaiting Raja’s instructions. Nodding a greeting to Krista, Tammy Jean scooted over to make room for her on the loveseat, reaching over to smooth out the tangles in Krista’s wig. Seconds later, Raja-or Sutan Amrull, as she was called in the ‘real world’- emerged from the wings, dressed down and fresh-faced in a black tank, ripped denims and a pair of flip-flops.
“So, how major is this, Mama?” Brandi asked, picking at the chipping polish on her fingertips. “I take it this is going to be an outside job where you’ve been asked to place your best bets on the table.”
“Spot on, Cheeks,” Sutan winked at him. “I just got off the phone with a very good friend of mine. His father wants some of the queens from The Red Room to serve at a dinner party tomorrow night at the Sofitel. This is going to be a big deal for us because dinner parties equal executives, their wives and their children. If they like us well enough, then we are going to be assured of more than enough to keep up with the expenses of running this place. I want all six of you there with me tomorrow evening dressed in your very best. I’m going to pay you double for your work tomorrow and even throw in an extra day off.”
“I could kiss you, Mama!” Krista clapped her hands excitedly. “This sounds like a really wonderful opportunity for the club.”
“And for you boys, too,” Sutan reminded them. “Remember, this isn’t just about work. I want you to go out there and mingle. Make friends, find lovers, even drag a hook-up home; you’re all amazing young men and I would hate for you to go out there and do your thing just because it’s your job and you’re getting paid for it. That is not what drag is about-I need you all to understand that. Now, go get changed and start closing up; you’ll need your beauty sleep for tomorrow.”
“I feel like I have a year’s worth of foundation on my face,” Brad sighed dramatically, pulling the bob-cut wig off his head. “I kept coming back to the dressing room to retouch because one of my clients from tonight got all emotional on me. I just had to cry because I felt so bad for him! Imagine how you would feel if you caught your fiancée of almost one year having sex with some other guy in your bedroom.”
“That’s shit, man,” Tommy shook his head. “I really don’t get why people are never happy with what they have. It’s like they lose themselves completely when temptation walks through the door.”
“Temptation is a powerful force,” Brad agreed. “But I would much rather fall in love with someone who’ll love me forever than someone who will only ‘love’ me for a minute. As much as I love having fun in the beds of other men, I still have dreams of having someone to come home to one day.”
Kris wandered over to his dressing table, reaching backward to tug at the zip of his dress. Sighing, he allowed it to shimmy down his hips, letting it pool at his feet as he toed off his heels. He donned the lavender silk robe Sutan had given him and sat at the vanity, getting ready to begin the process of removing his makeup. He hated how his good mood would always melt away with the last of his makeup. When he was in Krista’s shoes, it was so easy to forget everything and just live like there was nothing to worry about. However, everything always came flooding back the moment he saw his own face in the mirror.
“Don’t be too hard on yourself, man,” Tommy advised, propping himself up on the table. “I know how shitty you feel when you reach for the makeup remover, but you’ve got to allow yourself to believe that there’s nothing to be ashamed of. Here, let me do that for you.”
“I’m sorry,” Kris said quietly, welcoming the cold touch of the makeup remover on his skin. “You really shouldn’t be coddling me like this; I’m a grown man who should be mature enough to deal with this on his own. Heck, I shouldn’t even be having issues in the first place.”
“You’re right; I shouldn’t,” Tommy agreed. “But there’s a big difference between having to do things-close your eyes-and wanting to do them. I want to do this for you because it’s the only thing aside from the drag gig that’s keeping you up. You’re an affection-starved little boy who was ultimately misunderstood by the people he thought loved him the most. If a kiss or two on the cheek is going to keep a smile on that pretty face, then I’m more than happy to oblige.”
“You spoil me too much,” Kris sighed. “You, Brad and Sutan. I wish I could just wake up one morning without all this emotional baggage so I can function like a normal person again. I end up depending too much on the rest of you because I’m in dire need of support.”
“Sweetheart, you are a normal person,” Tommy assured him. “You were betrayed and left to the wolves; it’s only natural that you’d feel upset about it. Personally, I’m all up for booking a flight to Conway just so I can throw a punch or fifty at each person who has made you feel like shit.”
Kris laughed. “And to think our first meeting culminated in a blowjob.”
“Hey, that was pretty darn good.” Tommy chuckled. “You’ve got a great mouth on you, Kris Allen. That was the first time-and maybe not the last, because I ain’t putting no cap on my sexuality-I let a guy blow me. Verdict? You are seriously better than my ex-girlfriend.”
“I’m charmed, Ratliff,” Kris laughed. “If ever you’d be up for a repeat, let me know so I can tell Krista.”
“I don’t work that way, honey,” Tommy said firmly, pressing a kiss to Kris’ forehead. “To me, Kris and Krista are one and the same. Just because you’re far more self-conscious as the little man in plaid doesn’t mean I love you any less once you’re out of the dress.”
Kris trembled slightly. “You don’t think it’s abnormal that I hate myself so much when I’m not Krista?”
“I don’t see it as a manifestation of self-hate,” Tommy replied, pressing another damp cotton ball to Kris’ under-eye area. “It’s more of a slight trauma, if you ask me. You’re unable to love yourself because the people you thought cared about you turned their backs on you the moment they found out you were gay. In all honesty, there’s no one to land the blame on in this situation. Some people think the way they do because they were raised to think that way; they would be rewarded handsomely for complying, but punished severely for rebelling. We can choose to blame history, but what good would that be? Only cowards place the blame on the dead.”
“If there’s anyone I choose to blame, it’s me.” Kris sighed. “I’m just not strong enough, Tommy. The only time I find myself capable of summoning the courage to pick myself up from the ground is when I’m in high heels and a dress. It’s sad how easily I can find the words to defend myself when I’m dressed as a girl while I just lie there and take the insults when I’m just me.”
“We’ll work on it, baby.” Tommy reached out and pulled him into a tight embrace. “It’s going to be a long and difficult journey, but we’ll make sure you get there. It’s all about taking baby steps, Kris. And when you feel scared and hopeless along the way, Sutan, Brad and I will be there. We’re not going to abandon you, baby. We know what it feels like to not be wanted ourselves.”
Kris burrowed his face into Tommy’s chest and breathed. There was nothing he could do but believe.
“…no way, Brandi. There is no way in hell I am wearing that!”
Krista edged away from the tight-fitting nude lace dress in fear of Brandi pulling it over her head. It was insanely short and skimpy as heck; she had no idea how on earth Brandi had deemed it appropriate for a business dinner where they would be catering to rich men in suits.
“It just looks skimpy, honey,” Brandi assured her. “I promise it’s not going to ride up and expose your thong or anything. You’re biologically male, so it’s going to look a lot less obscene-okay, maybe more- on you than on an actual girl. Besides, you need to show off those newly waxed legs of yours.”
“Fine,” Krista grumbled, snatching the garment from Brandi. “But if upskirt photos of me appear somewhere on the internet, I am going to deprive you of my crab and mango salad for a month!”
“And to be deprived of Krista’s cooking is a dying shame!” Coco laughed. “That goes double for you since you live with her, Brandi. Maybe you’ll wind up going back to your days of organic wheatgrass.”
“Brandi ate wheatgrass?” Krista poked her head out from the dressing room, expression aghast. “But what does that even taste like? It sounds pretty darn awful if you ask me.”
“Brad and Cassidy went through this organic ‘food’ phase.” Tammy rolled her eyes. “Trust me; you don’t want to know what organic wheatgrass even looks like.”
“Well, we can’t all be like you, wasp waist,” Brandi retorted. “Not everyone can stuff tacos into their body every single day and not gain an ounce.”
“Story of my life,” Tammy smirked, applying a second layer of kohl to her lids. “I could say the same for Krista, though; the bitch can eat.”
“Yes, I can,” Krista nodded sagely, making a beeline for the leather jacket Tommy had worn on their way to the hotel. “And before I hear any objections, I’ll be wearing this for the rest of the night and that’s final. The skirt is already obscenely short; I’ll look like a stripper. Plus, it’s cold.”
“I hate semi-formal events,” Tammy scowled, tugging on the hem of her leather-and-chiffon dress. “I can’t even wear my creepers tonight. If I trip all over you in these monstrous heels, that’s because I can’t walk an inch in them. I’ll take any job that involves standing.”
“Even if you have to greet people at the door?” Brandi asked with a giggle. “We all know that’s the job you hate the most. Raja was going to do it herself tonight, but since you’re so keen on not moving at all, I can talk to her about letting you help out.”
“…I’d rather walk, thank you very much,” Tammy said frostily. “I can watch out for the old men trying to get a handful of Krista’s extremely generous behind.”
“You do that, sweetheart.” Raja emerged from the suite, looking stunning in a long champagne-colored gown. “Mister Lambert is expecting us to be down there in ten minutes; guests will be arriving shortly after. I’m sure you all know what to do, but just in case you run into trouble, don’t hesitate to approach me by the reception area. Be polite to the guests-some of them will be bringing their sons and daughters along, so there might be some eye candy-and have a great time.”
“I am so there!” Brandi tittered cheerfully, snatching up her beaded clutch before making a beeline for the door. “See you later, ladies. Maybe there are going to be some hot guys on the early arrivals list.”
Krista made a move to follow, but was stopped by Raja on her way out.
“May I have a word with you, sweetie?”
“Of course,” Krista replied, waving Tammy on, briefly indicating with a hand gesture that she would catch up shortly. “Is my dress too short? I can pick out something else; this is all Brandi’s fault.”
“No, no,” Raja shook her head, smiling. “You look perfect, honey; I have no complaints about your outfit. I just wanted to ask if you found it to presumptuous of me to think that you were ready for such a big thing. It’s just that you have a way with handling all our patrons, Kris; some of them are going to end up as your regulars for as long as you want to keep this job. You bring a certain sparkle to the club, and I am so, so proud of you for being able to do that. Even if you can only embolden yourself when you assume the role of Krista, it is a huge first step. Never be too hard on yourself, honey.”
“Thank you, Mama.” Krista leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. “I owe you everything.”
“Good girl.” Raja embraced her tightly. “Now, go and make me proud!”
Krista blew her a kiss before heading out, unsurprised to see Tammy waiting for her in the hallway. Since day one, Tommy had made it crystal clear that he would always be there for Kris, and his drag queen alter ego was intent on upholding her end of the bargain.
“It was nothing serious,” Krista explained as they descended the staircase companionably. “To generalize things, she just told me to let loose and have fun.”
“Good advice,” Tammy agreed. “But don’t get too wasted; stuff could happen. It’s always the quiet ones that make the biggest messes when they’re wasted.”
“Trust me; I won’t even go near the alcohol.” Krista shuddered. “Cale says I turn into a whore when I’m drunk; these rich gentlemen do not need to see that.”
“And they’re old.” Tammy wrinkled her nose. “I have nothing against old men, but that all changes when I feel a gnarly, wrinkled hand on my bare thigh. It’s an invitation for a murder.”
“Don’t even make me imagine things,” Krista mumbled. “I’m not being a bitch or anything, but my preferences include young, nice-looking and smart. I believe we’re all too young to be escorting our boyfriends to the toilet because they can’t make it on their own.”
“Talk about miserable.” Tammy rolled her eyes. “I am not spending the rest of my life in servitude to some ancient pervert who can’t get it up even when pumped with unhealthy doses of Viagra.”
“And you two should kind of shut up because people are arriving,” Giselle piped up. “That isn’t exactly the kind of conversation that you should be having in public places.”
“Oh, please; I’ll say whatever I want whenever I want,” Tammy said haughtily, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “A little attitude goes a long way.”
“I’m with you on that,” Krista said with a giggle. “Check out Brandi-she’s got three men hanging on to her every word already. I can only wish that I could have been born half as outgoing as she is.”
“I think your initial shyness is a turn-on for your clients, though,” Tammy commented. “The way you fiddle with the hem of your dresses is adorable, really.”
“Ladies, you really need to stop gabbing now,” Coco reminded them. “Guests are starting to arrive and we don’t want to be caught gossiping by the reception area. Come; you two can help me serve the hor d'oeuvres. They won’t require much socializing on Tammy’s part.”
“Good enough for me,” Tammy agreed. “Brandi! Get your manwhore ass here now.”
“That’s actually a pet name,” Krista heard Brandi tell one of the men. “We call each other manwhore and slut all the time. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I actually have a job to get to.”
“Is there anyone in this room that I need to know?” Krista asked as she watched Raja escort the dignified-looking people into the room. “I’m a bit of a hick when it comes to famous people, and I don’t want to look dumb just in case they talk to me.”
“Well, you’re lucky that I’m here to educate you,” Brandi said smugly. “And you’re also lucky that most of these gentlemen aren’t the types who would give you hell if you didn’t recognize them. As of right now, your only concern should be the Lambert family. See that jolly-looking fellow by the reception area with Raja? That’s the Eber Lambert, world-class film producer. Word on the block is that he’s about to purchase thirty percent of the shares of Paramount out of sheer awesomeness. That hot mama on his arm is his ex-wife Leila; she’s a screenplay writer at Paramount. The chap making the rounds and shaking hands with everyone is their youngest son Neil. He choreographs stunts for a lot of action flicks. Finally, the one who keeps checking himself out in the mirror because he’s totally disinterested in everything else is Adam, the eldest son. He’s…well, he’s an actor and a socialite. He and Raja are good friends. Sadly, he's a major ass.”
“He’s cute, though,” Dominique said with a giggle. “Do you think he’s into boys?”
“He’s a bit of a playboy, that one,” Brandi replied. “He tried to come on to me once but I kicked him in the balls because he was being handsy while I was entertaining a client at another table. Frankly, I don’t know what he’s like when he’s not drunk, but I doubt that makes much of a difference.”
“And to think he’s thirty-something.” Tammy scowled. “I do not approve of people who waste their lives when they obviously have the capacity to do something with them. As long as you keep me away from him, I think we will have a very nice evening.”
“In short, Krista will be in charge of serving Adam Lambert.” Brandi winked at Krista. “You’re the only one who won’t burn him to the ground or straddle his lap and ask him to fuck you.”
“Oh gosh, I wouldn’t!” Krista shook her head, her cheeks aflame. “I’m just going to serve him his food and go away unless he orders something else. I won’t even talk to him.”
“I don’t think things are going to go as easy as you think they will, but I’ll let you hang on to that dream until it’s time to face the music,” Tammy sighed. “Anyway, I’ll be nearby. In case he grabs your ass, scream like a hysterical teenage girl so I can come to your rescue.”
Heaving a sigh, Krista reached for a tray of fancy-looking biscuits that were stuffed with fancy-looking things and made her way towards the dinner table, trailing closely behind Brandi and her tray of cocktails. Realizing that she looked as terrified as she felt (she should have had a couple of shots before leaving; she was so much braver when she was tipsy), she pasted a nervous smile on her face and hoped that she wouldn’t crack until the dinner party was over.
Things were so much easier to handle at The Red Room.
“Would you like a drink, sir?” she heard Brandi ask smoothly. “We have an array of nastily colorful drinks to serve as your poison for the night-Cook’s world-famous frozen Mojito is on the menu.”
“Thank fuck,” Adam Lambert grumbled as he accepted the Mojito. “I need something to curb my boredom. Do you think I can sneak out of here after dinner?”
“I heard that, Adam,” Leila Lambert warned her son. “And, no, you are not allowed to leave this room until this dinner is over. I can easily have your father deactivate your ATM card, you know.”
“No way!” Adam whined. “The lambskin leather gloves Dior customized for me are coming in from Milan next week; I need cash to pay for that.”
Krista bristled, all traces of shyness immediately replaced by irritation. Brandi was right; Adam Lambert was a serious jerk.
“Appetizers, Mister Lambert?” she forced herself to say through gritted teeth.
“They’re not good for my waistline, so, no.” He dismissed her with a wave of his hand. “Could you maybe ask the chef to whip up a salad? Everything on the buffet table is so fucking fattening.”
“…get it yourself, you jerk.”
The words escaped Krista’s mouth before she could even think of putting a lid on it. Humiliated, she stepped backwards and crashed into Coco. The jolt from the sudden impact made her lose her balance, and all her hor d’oeuvres made themselves at home on Adam Lambert’s lap.
“…oh my god,” she whimpered, gaping at the mess of greens, tomatoes, liver spread and other things. “I’m so sorry. Oh my god, I am so sorry!”
“This was a fifty-thousand dollar suit!” Adam snapped. “It was custom-made by Karl Lagerfeld out of the finest wool in America. It’s fucking irreplaceable and you ruined it for life!”
“As if that’s going to be a problem for you!” Krista found herself yelling. “You’re filthy rich so you can have all the fucking Chanel in the world at the snap of a finger. I seriously felt bad, you know? But you ruined everything by spouting all that bratty nonsense!”
“That was not bratty nonsense!” Adam argued. “And I have the right to be furious because you ruined the best suit in my closet.”
“Last week, you said that weird shiny gray thing by someone-or-other was your best one,” Neil Lambert offered unhelpfully. “And give the girl a break; it was obviously an accident-plus, she apologized. Most people wouldn’t apologize to jerks like you.”
“Whatever.” Adam turned on his heel in search of the exit. “I’m leaving. You can all talk about how much of a jerk you think I am, but I won’t stick around to hear it.”
Tammy scowled. “What a prick. I was going to allow a tiny part of my cold-hearted self to feel sorry for him, but his attitude is so off-putting. I hope the food stains stay where they are.”
Krista sighed and shook her head. With as much dignity as she could muster, she strode purposefully in the direction of the kitchens to find someone that would help her clean up the mess. Her unfortunate run-in with the brat of the Lambert family had been a bad way to start the night, but she was determined not to let the incident ruin her chances of actually having fun.
Adam Lambert could fucking screw himself for all she cared.
(PART TWO)